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Hitting Rock Bottom
Folder:
The Letters When you hit rock bottom, you blink
a thousand miserable times before you get the picture
the telephone clicks, and the sleep gets longer
Chaos sets in, and you don't wash your hair
or your hands
or your pretty face
What you know, is the weather is
rebellious for December
and your room is comparable to a compost heap
Sometimes you have to open the window to
rid yourself of the stench of lonliness
It's not always that sort of thing in the air
Occasionally I smell the ocean.
And the seagulls get confused, they hang out in our parking lots
The kids throw them french fries
or alka seltzers
and watch them blow up from the inside out
I wish I were some sort of tall buiding
with large windows
There'd be more room to watch this show
This delicate massacre of my heart,
where holes are festering
and spreading wider
formed from a
meat cleaver
or a pitchfork
or a hasty argument about what goes on in my head
or why
I cannot.
Keep doing this.
Everytime.
You miss me. Kristi.
un.
healthy.
ex. hausted.
I get it.
I don't get it.
what?
nevermind.
Talk. to me.
fall.
asleep.
Bye.
Click it off before you hear mine.
Next week will be tough
We're all gonna shut off our lights
and the excitements will dwindle back into
the daily rush of alarm clocks and
microwaveable meals
and I'll have you somewhere on the side
and on the brink of my desire
But wait.
Tonight I was the last thing on your mind,
and that
can only
mean one of two things....
